


Even if it breaks your heart

by orphan_account



Category: Common Law
Genre: Inspired by Music, Not Beta Read, Other, Pre-Canon, The relationship is cuz he loves it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes knew music. Music was his thing. He'd grown up bathed and clothed in music. Also known as the time I took my writing homework and turned it into fanfiction because I am just.  That.  Obsessive.  Posted on FF.net, too, in case it seems familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So my writing homework this week was to take a pre-existing character (Wes) and think about what their background and childhood was like, then completely change it. See, I think that Wes was the kind of person whose parents were perhaps a little bit estranged, and didn't do things like introduce him to good music at an early age, he had to discover it on his own. So, I gave him AWESOME parents. Here you go.

_**Way back on the radio dial, the fire got lit inside a bright-eyed child. Every note just wrapped around his soul, steel guitars to Memphis all the way to rock and roll.** _

_**-Even if it breaks your heart (Eli Young Band)** _

* * *

Wesley sat in the driver's seat of his daddy's pickup truck, waiting for him to come back out of the bank. He put his hands on the steering wheel and made racecar noises, giggling and pretending he was his favorite cartoon, Speed Racer. He crawled down on the floor and found a few pennies, which he squealed and put in his pockets. He found a little candy, still in the wrapper, so he took it out and put it in his mouth, savoring the sweet butterscotch. He climbed back up onto the seat and decided he wanted to listen to music. He wanted to listen to his Inka-Dinka-Wibble CD, so he tried to figure out how daddy did it. He liked the Inka-Dinka-Wibble band, they sang funny songs. Like _come on honey, sunny day, come on children out to play, come on honey one two three, if you hear this play with me!_ He pushed the button and music began, but it wasn't his music. He went to turn it off, but froze. The music was weird. But in a good way. It sounded like when his big brother played guitar, except it was actually fun to listen to instead of painful. Then the voice began and his little jaw dropped. "Every time that I look in the mirror, all these lines in my face getting clearer. The past is gone. It went by, like dusk to dawn, isn't that the way? Everybody's got their dues in life to pay. I know, nobody knows where it comes or where it goes. I know, it's everybody's sin. You gotta lose to know how to win. Half my life's in book's written pages. Lived and learned from fools and from sages. You know it's true. All the feelings come back to you, sing with me, sing for the year, sing for the laughter, sing for my tears. Sing with me, just for today, maybe tomorrow the good Lord'll take you away." The song stopped when his daddy opened the car door, and laughed. "Hey, kiddo, you like Aerosmith?" he asked, and Wesley nodded, mouth still hanging open. "It made my heart hurt, Daddy, why he so sad?" the five year old asked, and his father lifted him into his carseat and sighed. "That happens when you get older, sport, you get sad. You start to think. You start to wonder if this is really where your life was supposed to go," he said. Wesley looked down at his hands as he thought about that. He didn't forget it.


	2. The way life is supposed to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes thinks about his life, the way it's supposed to be. He also decides that seventh grade can kiss his... well. Let's just say he does a lot of thinking and deciding in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wes is about thirteen in this chapter. Just FYI, there will be time skips with every chapter, each one will be seven or eight years.

Wes ran from the school building. It had been such a long day. He hated seventh grade even more than usual when he had to sit right by the window and watch the gorgeous spring day. When most people think beautiful places in spring, they think Paris, but oh, how wrong they were. Because his small town in Georgia was it, man. He shoved his shaggy hair out of his face, watching determinedly as the final seconds ticked away. "Alright, class, don't forget, you have to do worksheet 34 and 35 for homework tonight," the boring old fart... ahem... teacher said, and the second she was cut off by the ringing bell, Wes had his books and was fleeing the room like his seat was on fire. He dumped them in his backpack and slammed his locker in record time, running out to the parking lot. He waited a few moments and he could hear (and smell) his father's truck before he could see it. The Silverado tore down the road and Wes swung open the door and hopped inside before it even fully stopped, and his father was tearing off again. Now, if you've ever ridden passenger in a pickup in Georgia in the spring, you've lived. Wes could smell peaches and hogs and fresh cut grass, and his father blared Ozzy Osbourne, who was one of Wes' own personal favorites, he'd roll down all the windows and the wind would whip into the car and it felt so incredibly right, like this is what life was meant to be like. They pulled up to the big old farmhouse and Wes could see the tractor in the distance, and his father ran off to plow the hay. He got out and kicked off his Chuck Taylors and his socks, and he ran barefoot through the warm mud, which squished wetly between his toes. His sister, Bella, ran out and laughed and ran with him, then climbed into the truck and turned it back on, blasting the stereo on the same classic rock channel they'd been listening to before, the same channel that had quite possibly been on the stereo since his father came into possession of the truck, which they had affectionately deemed 'Rusty Junk Bucket' or RJB. The smell of baking bread wafted out the front door and between the wooden porch railing, hitting them like a freight train and enticing them to wipe off their feet and race to the kitchen. Their mother sat making a pitcher of sweet tea while the bread baked in the oven, and their little brother Daniel sat at her feet, playing with trucks. When their father came back, he smelled of hay and fresh mowed grass, and the small family teased him about it as they sat down for supper. Their mother said grace and they all dug in, and as an afterthought, their father turned on the CD player real low so his wife didn't yell at him, and they would eat comfortably to the chatter of Daniel and Bella, the sounds of Warrant playing around them, and Wes drumming on the table with his fingers, bopping his head and lauhging as he ate the homemade fried chicken. He decided right then that this was what life was meant for.


End file.
